


the glint of light on broken glass

by lost_decade



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Awkwardness, M/M, Pining, Stupid Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: What happens in Hong Kong stays in Hong Kong is sort of how Jean-Eric had justified giving his new teammate a handjob in the back of the garage after the first race of the season.





	the glint of light on broken glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [circuitricardoporno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuitricardoporno/gifts).



> For N. Happy birthday! <3 This is a bit of a trashy mess but I hope you enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> Title is from a Chekhov quote.

_What happens in Hong Kong stays in Hong Kong_ is sort of how Jean-Eric had justified giving his new teammate a handjob in the back of the garage after the first race of the season. It’s hot and also stiflingly humid and even though Jev has only had a little bit of champagne, that mixed with the adrenaline of being on the podium again is enough to make him throw caution to the wind when a dejected looking Andre slips an arm around his waist and gives him a congratulatory hug that turns into what can only be described as _grinding_.

It reminds him of a couple of times with Daniel when they were teenagers and still young enough to throw caution to the wind, which isn’t what he wants to think of, but also it’s been a while and no one around here really cares what you do with your dick so what the hell.

The second time is after the next race and they are actually still in Hong Kong so Jev decides it’s probably fine – and Andre looks kind of hot when he’s sad and pissed off so that, coupled with the amount of alcohol at the after party, settles the matter. Also, it’s nice to be kissed and Jev has always been quite receptive to flattery, enjoys the little thrill that escalates down his spine when Andre cups his cheek and tells him that he’s gorgeous before whispering something in his ear about wanting to make him come all night long. Which, fuck, it’s not as if they’re doing anything wrong and if any rules are being broken here then they’re Jev’s own rules, which let’s face it have always been a little bit malleable.

They get on, that’s all, Jev reasons – and it’s good to get on well with your teammate, he’s always got on great with Sam too, and --he closes his eyes at the sudden thought that he might open them and it'll be Sam looking down at him, squeezing his shoulder, wanting him. He’s almost about to lose himself in the fantasy, until – fuck, is Andre actually trying to choke him. This was supposed to be a nice consolatory blowjob, not Andre trying to fuck his mouth until he can’t breathe.

He rocks back on the balls of his feet, letting Andre’s dick slip from his lips and pressing his thumb to the tip instead, a little harder than is perhaps pleasurable. Andre groans, reaching down and grasping his dick, smearing pre-cum over Jev’s lips. He smiles as if this is in some way romantic, which okay maybe—“can I come on your face?” Andre asks, interrupting his thoughts and lifting a foot to rub against Jean-Eric’s cock and oh fuck.

Jev moans involuntarily, leaning into the touch as he finds himself saying yes.

-

Sam has had a pretty blinding weekend overall, so it's no surprise that by halfway through Sunday evening he's - well, not wankered but not sober exactly. Mostly sober, though. Somewhere between swaying and dancing is where he's currently at. He likes dancing, generally. He likes dancing when there's other people on the dancefloor, he likes dancing when he's had a decent result in a race and he's got some adrenaline to shake off, some booze in his system. It's a good time, he likes a good time, he could probably have two more drinks and still not be hungover, he decides as he looks at his phone.

He wonders if Hollie’s remembered to put the bins out, considers texting her but when he tries his fingers are all slippy on the screen and fuck, he leans against the bar, most people having cleared the floor.

The song reminds him of school, of that shitty foam party where he really couldn't pull. Jesus. Intergalactic fucking Christ. The key change is looming and really that's where the whole thing dramatically goes downhill and he doesn't want to be here for that so he, somewhat sensibly given he's not drunk, orders another shot and a glass of water, and stumbles through the door by the bar in search of somewhere to sit until a better song comes on.

There's nowhere to sit. There's just Andre with his head back against the wall and Jev on his knees, swallowing the German’s cock like it's his last meal. Which...right, okay then.

No matter how hard he tries, Sam can't get the image out of his head for the rest of the evening, a sinking feeling he doesn’t want to acknowledge manifesting in the pit of his stomach as he watches them leave together at the end of the night. He catches Jev’s eye just as they’re about to walk out of the club, glancing down at where the Frenchman’s fingers are entwined with Andre’s.

-

Perhaps inevitably, given Andre’s shitty weekend and Jev’s willingness to make up for it with his mouth, the two Techeetah drivers wind up in Jev’s hotel room later that evening. The night is a blur of colour, the neon shining on the water at odds with the traditional junk boats moored at the edge of the harbour. Jean-Eric has high hopes for this season, for the team and his new teammate, who is currently snoring so annoyingly loudly, that even if Jev wasn’t jetlagged it’d still be impossible for him to drop off.

He sips a bit more from the bottle of sparkling water, looking out at the view and then back at Andre, sprawled out in the centre of the bed. Is this really a good idea, to start fucking your teammate right at the beginning of the season? Possibly not, but already something has clicked, in a way that Jev feels might become a kind of basic _friends who screw_ arrangement. Andre exudes a confidence that Jean-Eric has mixed feelings over, but then sometimes it’s nice to have the decision on whether to cross the line taken out of your hands, to be watched and wanted the way that Andre has been watching him since Valencia.

Jean-Eric isn’t really one for making the first move. If he was then maybe he’d have done more than a bit of casual flirting with Sam over the past couple of years by now - flirting that he’s pretty certain Sam has remained oblivious to, or chosen to ignore. It’s nearly 4am and he should really try and at least get a little more rest, he decides, slipping beneath the sheets and letting Andre cuddle him a bit in his sleep.

-

Of all the places to visit in the middle of winter, the south coast of England can’t be that high on many people’s list. That’s why Sam is genuinely confused when Jean-Eric appears on his doorstep three hours after sending a text wherein he basically invited himself down from London the first weekend in January.

“Bored of skiing and fondue already mate?” Sam asks after Jev has spent ten minutes fussing over Buddy in the hallway while Sam looked on feeling impossibly fond and a little bit perplexed.  

Shit, that probably gives away just how often he’s looked at Jev’s Instagram recently, doesn’t it. Well, someone has to keep an eye on the guy, Sam just isn’t sure when he allocated himself that role.

“What can I say, I missed you. We haven’t spent so much time together lately,” Jev shrugs.

“Well, you’re the one who left me.” Sam wants to kick himself the second the words are out of his mouth, because he hadn’t meant for them to sound like _that._ Jean-Eric looks wounded and Sam laughs and pats him on the arm.

“I’m kidding. Do you want some coffee, I’ll put some coffee on.”

Jev leans against the counter while Sam stares at the array of Nespresso pods, feeling slightly bewildered. He hadn’t been bothered really when Jev announced he was leaving Virgin, they were close enough that not being teammates anymore didn’t have to mean not hanging out and all last season most of the post-race parties had ended with the two of them getting drunk in a corner away from everyone else.

He thinks back to his win in New York last year and the feel of Jev in his arms on the podium, soaked in champagne and looking at him with those expressive brown eyes. Oh shit. He’s almost forgotten the thought that had entered his mind at that moment, of how the win had somehow felt heightened by the fact that Jean-Eric was up there with him, of how great it was to see him looking happier. Of how he could’ve just grabbed him by the front of his race suit and kissed him.

“Are you okay?” Jean-Eric asks, and Sam realises the cup has been full for probably about a minute.

“Yeah, yeah good. Great.” He hands the coffee over. “So things going well with you and Lotterer then?”

“Uh, yeah I think so, he fits well in the team, he is easy to be around.”

Sam snorts at that, ignoring Jean-Eric’s answering frown.

“You don’t like Andre?”

“Don’t really know him that well, mate.”

“He’s a good teammate, so far anyway.”

“Yeah I bet he is,” Sam mutters under his breath. Jev moves to stand next to him, the air in the kitchen suddenly seeming to stop circulating.

“Is there something going on with you?” Jev asks, looking down at him, their bodies so close they’re almost touching. “You’ve been acting weird ever since Hong Kong.” His fingers brush against Sam’s arm and Sam glances away from him, out at the bitterly cold expanse of the beach.

“Sam?”

Jealousy doesn’t suit him, he knows this.

“Everything’s cool,” Sam says, stepping back, trying to ignore the acceleration of his heart.

-

When it comes to teammates, Alex is quite a decent one, a bit dull maybe by Sam’s standards but fine, just, god he’s not Jev. He somewhat ineloquently tries to explain this to the Frenchman a few hours later, when after stumbling up the stairs to show him the guest room the two of them end up collapsed on the bed in drunken laughter, taking the piss out of one another the way old friends do.

“I’m glad I came to visit you,” Jean-Eric admits, suddenly serious. Their faces are so close that Sam could probably get even more intoxicated on the brandy fumes from Jean-Eric’s breath, could count the few tiny freckles across his nose. Jev’s hair is distractingly in his eyes and it’s unfair, how he looks like he could be out of some ethereal painting or an attractive but damaged cop in one of those miserable French 70’s-set dramas that Hollie likes watching on Netflix.

Sam pushes back Jev’s hair from his eyes, fingers stroking down the side of his face through the softness of his beard and he’s almost, almost drunk enough to ask. Jean-Eric stares at him questioningly, lips slightly parted, and Sam wishes he was brave enough to say it, to ask him _why Lotterer, why not me?_

“See you in the morning,” he says instead, before clambering off the bed. He doesn’t spend the _entire_ night lying awake wondering what Jev’s lips would feel like around his dick. Just most of it.

-

In Marrakesh Sam finds himself gravitating towards Jev at the after party, which is nothing new but at the same time it feels different now somehow. He leans his head on Jev’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness and hating it at the same time because it reminds him that he misses Hollie. Jev smells good though, he feels good next to him, their thighs pressed so close. He reaches for his drink, taking a sip and then trying not to choke on it as Jev slips an arm around him, ruffling his hair and pulling Sam half onto his lap.

They’ve always been reasonably tactile with each other, it’s nothing new or unusual but with it comes the added knowledge of what he saw back in Hong Kong. He tries to put it out of his mind, relaxing onto Jev, burying his face against the scarf that’s draped around the Frenchman’s neck. When he moves back a bit Jean-Eric turns his head, looking at him inquisitively, a look in his eyes that Sam can’t read.

The booze has gone to Sam’s head a bit and it feels too hot in the bar, too noisy. His head is heavy and he finds that he can’t focus on anything other than Jev’s eyes, Jev’s lips, his gaze flitting between them as he remembers the sight of those same full lips around Andre’s dick.

He shakes his head, pissed off at himself for not being able to forget about it and also oddly annoyed with Jev.

“Are you two a couple then, or…or…” he gets out, looking away across the dancefloor to find Mitch staring over at them, giving Sam daggers. What the fuck, seriously? Is Jev shagging Mitch as well, has his former teammate had the whole paddock? Everyone except for Sam? It doesn’t fit with the idea he has in his mind of Jev and he can’t help but feel disappointed, which is stupid because if Jev’s happy then this is a good thing, right.

He removes himself from Jev’s embrace, sliding over a bit on the seat, away from him. He doesn’t miss the contact, why would he.

Jev looks confused. “What, me and Evans, no.”      

“I’m not talking about Mitch.”

“Then who--”

“Oh forget it,” Sam dismisses, noticing Andre appear at the bar with a couple of incredibly attractive models. He wishes Hollie was here, or that Jev was still as depressed as he’d been when they were teammates. No - he doesn’t wish that, of course he doesn’t. He just wishes Jev still needed him, that’s all. Shit, maybe he should drink some water.

“We should go to eat sometime,” Jev slurs weirdly and okay, what? “Maybe somewhere nice, you know.”

Sam is about to ask him what the heck he’s talking about but then Andre is walking over and he excuses himself to go and piss, grabbing onto Jean-Eric’s arm to steady himself as he slips out of the booth.

-

“You and Sam,” Andre begins, the next morning. It’s Sunday and it already feels a little bit wrong to have Andre’s fingers inside him while the call to prayer is loudly blaring in through the window; having a conversation about Sam at the same time seems doubly weird. Jean-Eric moans half in frustration, flinging his arm over his eyes to block the glare of the sun that has miraculously decided to make an appearance today, pressing down needily onto the German’s fingers just as Andre crooks them perfectly right inside him. He wonders if his teammate is actually going to finish a race this season, and also whether this will still be the outcome if he does. He’d kind of decided after Hong Kong that having sex with Andre was just something that was only going to happen when the German had a bad race and surely that wasn’t going to be every race. But, well, here they are again.

“Are you going to fuck me, come on?” Jev sighs frustratedly, spreading his legs wider in a way that he hopes will make Andre want to stop teasing him and get on with it, rather than having a chat about Sam. “Be patient,” Andre tells him, adding another finger and knocking Jev’s hand out of the way when he reaches for his dick in an attempt to stroke himself. Jev closes his eyes and tries to drown out the stream of Arabic, his brain unhelpfully drawing his thoughts back to Sam instead. They’d spent most of the after party together the night before, Sam leaning against him drunkenly, even closer than usual - at one stage he swears Sam’s hand had brushed against his ass on purpose, but then Andre had appeared and Jev hadn’t wanted to go back to his hotel alone but he hadn’t just wanted to try and shag Sam either because he wants to take Sam to dinner first, maybe to his favourite restaurant in Paris and--

“what the hell are you doing?” Jean-Eric asks, opening his eyes as he hears the sound of a shutter clicking, to find Andre has grabbed his Leica from the side table and is focusing it one handedly while still fingering him. “Andre, no, what if someone--”

“It’s for my private collection,” Andre tells him, snapping another picture that Jev sort of poses for because bad idea or not, if Andre intends to wank over this later he still wants to look suitably hot. “Or maybe I’ll send it to Bird,” he says, raising his eyebrows as he puts the camera down and slides his fingers out of Jev’s arsehole, reaching for a condom.

-

“Is it really so obvious,” Jev asks when they’re in Santiago. It’s Wednesday and the sun is beating down on the rooftop bar of the hotel, they’ve just finished a live Q&A and Andre’s hand is resting on his thigh. Jean-Eric likes Chile, he decides.

Even though it’s been three weeks Andre doesn’t need to ask what Jean-Eric is talking about. The German smiles at him wickedly and Jev bets that behind the mirrored sunglasses his eyes have a delighted little sparkle, the bastard. “Yeah - not straight away but well, Lucas might have pointed it out.”

Jev wants to hit Lucas for a moment, but it passes quickly, given that the champion has had about as much luck so far this season as Andre has. He wonders if they’ve been commiserating together, discussing Jean-Eric’s relationship status. God, he hopes not. And besides he figured Lucas would be shagging Abt to take his mind off things, not talking to Andre about him. Or maybe Andre’s fucking Di Grassi too, who knows.  

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Andre says.

“Tell him what - what would I tell him? We’ve been friends forever, he’s getting married. If he wanted something he would’ve said while we were teammates.”

“Did you say anything to him?”

“I had a lot going on at the time.” Jev shrugs, running his fingers through his hair. Fuck its hot today.

“So you just want to fuck him or is it more than that? We’re friends, right, you can tell me. It's more, yeah?”

Jev glances around but Carl has gone back inside and there’s no one in immediate earshot. He thinks about spilling his heart out to Andre, telling him everything about Daniel and the whole tangled mess that broke his heart so badly that he thought he’d die from it, but the memories still feel troublingly recent. He’d talked about it with Sam of course, but he wasn’t fucking Sam and at the time he hadn’t wanted to be.

“I'm not talking about this now,” Jev replies. “You want to go inside, join me in the shower?”

-

Any caution that Jev might’ve thought about entertaining is well and truly thrown to the wind after him and Andre bring home a one-two for the team that weekend. The music from the club is still loud even in the toilets and any number of people could walk in right now but oh fuck Jev really doesn’t care. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, falling forward a bit and putting a hand out onto the cool surface of the glass to steady himself. It’s not exactly comfortable, with the sink sort of digging into his thigh and the bruising grip that Andre has on his hips.

“You’re so good,” Andre mouths against his neck, licking and biting at the sensitive skin as he thrusts into him relentlessly. “So fucking tight.”

Jev whines as Andre’s dick nudges his prostate, pleasure bursting through him. It’s as if he can feel Andre’s dick everywhere, more than just inside his ass but in the way that his legs shake, the way his sweat-slick hand reaches down to jerk himself off, clenching tight around Andre, whose thrusts are becoming more and more erratic.

“Are you close?” Jev murmurs, because god, he is - the delicious slide of his palm on his pre-cum slick cock is perfect and he throws his head back onto Andre’s shoulder with a moan.

“Yes but you should come first,” Andre tells him, authoritatively. “One-two remember, like the race.”

Jev laughs filthily, hissing as Andre’s nails dig into the flesh at his hips, “is that why you were all over my rear wing – couldn’t wait until the race was over to get on top of me.”

Andre tilts his head to the side, kissing him messily. At the back of Jev’s mind the thought surfaces again that this is a public bathroom, that anyone could walk in, that even Sam could—fuck, Andre knocks Jev’s hand away, his thrusts slowing a little as he concentrates on getting the Frenchman off.

Jean-Eric squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper as Andre presses his thumb over the head of his dick, teasing the slit. It’s Sam he sees as his orgasm hits him – Sam on his knees with his mouth open and his eyes darkened with lust. He slumps forward against the sink, body oversensitive and still shaking as Andre thrusts a few more times and comes inside him, wincing as the German’s cock slips out of him.

The freshly ironed shirt he’d put on in advance of the after-party is now rumpled and stuck to his back with sweat and when he looks up into the mirror again he looks more than just ecstatic from the win, his messy hair and the flush that’s crept up from his chest to his cheeks renders him thoroughly, obviously just-fucked.

“Maybe give it a minute,” Andre says when Jean-Eric goes to follow him out the door. “Don’t want people to talk too much. Or do we.”

He winks, actually winks. Jev shakes his head, smiling as Andre blows him a kiss and turning the tap on to splash some water on his face.

-

Jev is going to kill Andre. This is totally unacceptable teammate behaviour and he’s going to text him and say so right now.

He’s halfway through typing the text when a message comes through from Andre himself – _have fun and remember to use a condom_ – followed by three winking face emoji’s and a kiss.

“Are you alright?” Sam asks, causing Jev to almost drop his phone into his glass of water. Jev smiles and puts his phone away, trying to ignore how it feels like there’s more adrenaline pumping through his blood than when he was trying to defend his lead yesterday.

“Yeah, just…teammates, you know.” Sam _hmms_ at this, watching him carefully across the table.

It’s a nice restaurant, really nice – traditional Chilean with a Mediterranean twist. The lighting is low, the décor sparse but elegant, the space small and intimate. Perfect for a date.

The waiter appears to take their order just at the point where Jev is about to try and explain that this is all just Andre’s idea of a joke, lighting the candle in the centre of the table – which makes Sam look really quite lovely, blond hair glinting in the glow of the dancing flame.

They’re halfway through the starter and a couple of awkward conversations down – Jev really thinks that Sam didn’t mean to imply from his quip about the two of them sandwiching Rosenqvist in the standings that he wants to have a threesome with Jean-Eric and the Swede and actually was quite grateful for the interlude when he almost choked on his ceviche because at least turning red from choking stopped him from blushing too obviously – when Sam actually broaches the subject of what they’re both doing there having dinner.

It shouldn’t be weird, they’ve had dinner together loads of times, as teammates and as friends, but Jev can’t remember being in love with him at the time – and he is now, unfortunately, horribly in love with Sam Bird. Andre – being typical Andre – had teased it out of him that morning and of course by that point Jev would’ve said just about anything to be allowed to have an orgasm but the sad reality of it is that it’s true.

“Wait, you thought you were having dinner with Andre, didn’t you?” Sam’s eyes widen, the penny dropping much sooner than Jev would have liked it to. “Then why would he…”

Jev shrugs helplessly.

“He said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

“It’s nothing important really, I just thought we haven’t had dinner for a while, it would be nice to see each other before flying home.”

“And you couldn’t call me yourself?”

Jean-Eric really needs to start making a list of what he’s going to do to Lotterer. “It’s just Andre – he likes people to be friends.” He also must stop playing with his hair, it’s such an obvious nervous habit. Fuck it.

“I think that I—” Jev starts to say after a deep breath and at the exact moment when Sam asks “Why didn’t you—”.

Jev’s confidence falters, he looks into Sam’s impossibly blue eyes and then away again, out at the twilit streets. Sam reaches over the table, his hand resting lightly over Jean-Eric’s.

Fucking Andre is easy, simple, fun. Jev couldn’t do that with Sam – not _just_ that.

“You know, don’t you, about Andre and me…” Jev says, realising that of course Sam knows, that would explain how weird he’s been acting recently.

“You’re fucking,” Sam replies pointedly.

“Well, yes. But just fucking, nothing more than that. Just for fun.” Jean-Eric adds, trying not to make a mess of this. Sam’s expression is really hard to read, but his hand is still clasped around Jean-Eric’s and they’re here now, together. Jev exhales slowly. “Are you jealous?” he asks, softly, aware that he’s probably making this all more serious than it should be. He half expects Sam to laugh it off, to make some joke about how drivers come in from WEC and start fucking their teammates because that’s what they’re used to.

But, “yeah,” Sam replies, “I think I am.” He lifts his hand back slightly from Jev’s for a moment and Jev thinks he might’ve fucked this up, but then Sam splays his fingers, pushing them between Jean-Eric’s so they’re intertwined and giving his hand a little squeeze.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Jean-Eric admits, and even just that feels like a relief.

“Yeah, I think I have too.” Sam smiles at him and Jean-Eric gets that stupid, dizzying butterflies feeling in his stomach. He’s going to kiss Sam, he realises. Not here, but soon. Tonight. He’s almost disappointed when he remembers they still have two courses left to eat, no matter how amazing the food is here.

-

“Andre didn’t send you any pictures, did he?”

Sam rolls off Jean-Eric a bit, running his fingers over the quite lovely mark he’s just sucked into the Frenchman’s collarbone. It’s almost eleven in the morning and regrettably they really should get up and check out of the hotel soon if there’s any chance of making either of their flights.

“No,” Sam frowns, “what – pictures of you?”

“Uhh, no, nothing.”

Sam presses his lips to Jean-Eric’s, slipping his tongue into the Frenchman’s mouth. Fuck, nothing he’s ever imagined is anywhere near as amazing as the reality of being naked with Jean-Eric like this, being able to touch him, to get him all riled up. “Dirty pictures?”

Jean-Eric actually blushes and oh, Sam loves him like this. He strokes Jean-Eric’s hair back from his face. Maybe they could just miss their flights, Sam thinks.

“He didn't send me any pictures,” Sam says, his fingers closing around Jean-Eric’s dick, “but maybe we can take some of our own.”

      
  



End file.
